I should grow up now, realise alone
is what I am no matter how the crowd
makes noises I recognise, its groan
so like my own I never have allowed
myself the knowledge herd sounds never mean
a single thing, they are communal sighs.
Shared sounds I freeze are mindless, like the clean
new ice that claims the harbour while my eyes
ignore the frigid beauty, like my heart
pretends the imperfections in its beat
are nothing new but just a normal part
of ageing, an example of a feat
I should perfect these days:  imagining tears
come from the cold, so not from lonesome fears.